Just Another Day
by Sianaris
Summary: Just an average day in the life of Linda Loman. Based off the book by Arthur Miller, Death of a Salesman.


_This was written for my English class. I am pleased to say I also got 60/60 on it. The idea of the project was to write a short story about an average day in the life of Linda Loman, not a special day in particular. I hope you enjoy it._

_I in no way, shape or form own Death of a Salesman, or even anything in this short story. Thank you. Everything here belongs to Arthur Miller._

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"Willy... Willy, no... Willy!"

I suddenly woke up in a cold sweat, looking around the room in a panic, my heart racing. It took me a few minutes to realize that I was in bed, and it was all just a dream. A horrible dream.

I sighed and sank back into my pillow, wiping my forehead and trying to calm down. It seemed so real, I could have sworn that Willy... I looked at the clock and sighed more deeply. I could just tell by looking outside that it was morning already. I wanted so much to just pull the blankets over my head and sleep longer, but I knew that the chores wouldn't look after themselves. Not only that, but I have the boys to look after once again.

I sighed once more and threw my covers off, slipping my legs over the side of my bed and slipping my feet into my slippers. I then got up and made my bed wearily. I sometimes wished that my house could clean itself, but then I wouldn't have much to do. I would probably like it more if we could somehow manage to pay these bills, or maybe our things should stop breaking down.

"What, dear?" I called. I thought I heard somebody calling me.

"I asked, do you know where my good socks are?" called a voice back to me, the voice of my younger son, Happy.

"I'll get them for you in a minute."

"Thanks a lot, pal."

I finished making my bed and put on some proper clothing. I rarely ever go to visit somebody, but I want to look good incase I do, or incase somebody comes to visit. I also like to look nice just for myself once in a while.

I went downstairs and plucked Happy's good socks from the laundry basket beside the door. I was meaning to put those clothes away last night, but I was so worn out that I needed a nap and had forgotten. I brought them in just in time because it had begun to rain and it lasted all night. I brought the socks upstairs and knocked on my sons' room. Happy and his older brother, Biff, sleep in the same room. They have ever since they were just wee children. I remember when it was so hard to get them to settle down for the night, they loved to play make-believe in the middle of the night. Willy did not have to hear it often, for he was not home as much as I would like him to be. But it annoyed him more than a tad, saying one minute that such ruckus should be illegal, then excusing it with a 'boys will be boys'. He's quite the funny man, but I love him with all of my heart.

Sometimes I find it so hard to talk to Willy. Our neighbor, Charley, is one of my only good friends, and also one of the only people I can hold a proper conversation with. More often than not he will bring up Willy in our conversations, and sometimes he'll ask me, 'Why don't you tell him the truth and allow him to function as a real human being?' I often try to stray away from the topic, not wanting to argue. Talking about anyone behind their backs, especially Willy, makes me feel absolutely terrible. Yet, at the same time, I can't deny that Charley has been right more than once. Sometimes I just have difficulty admitting it.

The door opened a crack and I smiled at the face of my younger son. "Thanks, mom! Biff and I are going out today, I hope you don't mind."

I was quiet for a moment, letting it sink in, and then I smiled a little more brightly. "Of course I don't mind!" I said with a hint of laughter in my voice. Oh, if only Willy were home to see this. Biff and Happy, going out on the town together, and at such an early time. Well, it was only a little after eight in the morning, but I've always known them to be the kind who sleep in late and stay out until early. Biff had a strange passion for playing football under the stars, and Happy was always, well... more than happy to go along with it. I haven't seen them do very much with each other at all for years, and just hearing about it was enough to bring a hint of happy tears to my eyes. It actually felt, in that moment, like all was right with the world.

A hint of worry seemed to appear on Happy's face. "You sure, mom? Gee, me and Biff wouldn't want you to be all alone."

I waved my hand dismissively and held the socks out to him. "Don't you worry about a thing, dear, I'll be just fine. I have more than enough things to do, and I have some baking to catch up on."

"Oh boy!" Happy cheered. "What are you baking, mom?" he asked excitedly. I couldn't help but laugh a bit; his enthusiasm was quite welcome. Happy and Biff had quite the sweet tooth, but Biff was always careful not to eat too many sugary sweets. Baked goods and sweet treats were always a weakness of Happy's, being slightly chubby for a few years himself. But, he soon tried following in Biffs footsteps and lost all that weight to become a handsome man.

"I'll make a special apple pie for dinner, try not to fill up on anything else until then," I said, kissing him on the forehead.

"You hear that, Biff?" Happy said cheerfully, turning away from the door. I quietly closed it for him, the smile still wide across my face. Nothing is more rewarding than having children, especially two wonderful sons like them. Oh, how I've missed them. They only recently moved back in, but not for long, they assured me. Happy has an apartment of his own and he has a good job. Biff, according to my knowledge, is not so lucky. But, whatever their reasons, I'm grateful to have them back home. It's more like I'm able to keep a closer eye on them and make sure they're safe. I always worry about Biff, because I know that he had problems in his teenage years.

Ever since Biff came back home, he and Willy have been at each other a little, getting into the occasional fight. They've been like this for years, but I never found out why. But Willy is gone and there is peace, for a time. I'm afraid that Biff might get into his bad habits again, stealing. It's why he has such a hard time finding and holding a job, it seems as though everybody knows of his reputation. Years ago he was Biff Loman, the all-American superstar. Willy often acts as though it's still is and has always been that, but I know when things have changed. Biff isn't our football-playing star anymore, he's a jobless man, he's... lost.

I went back downstairs, the sleepiness still lightly tugging at me, but I was more awake now than before. I went straight to the fridge and sighed in light frustration to find that there was no cool air or even a gentle hum coming from it. Thankfully, it seemed to have broken down lot too long ago, so everything inside was still good. I took the loaf of bread, some eggs, bacon, and the bottle of milk out, setting them on the counter, and starting my workday for real. I turned on the stove, greasing a pan, and proceeded in making breakfast for my sons and myself. I remembered something, also taking out an orange and making some fresh orange juice for Happy. Milk was too tasteless for him, he would often joke. I made it for him anyways.

Right on cue, they came downstairs just as I set the plates down at the little square table and filled them with food. The looks on their faces were absolutely priceless; they usually got up and out of bed either too late or too early for me to make a proper breakfast for them. We sat down and enjoyed the breakfast, Happy said something witty once in a while and Biff nearly choked on his eggs in laughter. I smiled and ate quietly; I loved to see them this way. It wasn't usually this happy when Willy was around; his very presence set a darker mood in the house. I know he loves his sons, and they love him, but they all seem to have trouble expressing it.

When they finished up, they thanked me and gave me kisses goodbye, walking out of the house together. I still couldn't get over the smell that only now have I noticed hung in the air, the heavenly smell of shaving lotion. Such a scent so rarely graced my nose, and I loved to smell it.

I cleaned the dishes and put them away, tapping my nails on the table for a moment and trying to decide what to do next. I remembered then, I still hadn't put away, or even folded, the laundry. I took the basket with me to the table and sat down on a chair, beginning the chore. About halfway through, I heard a knock on the door. I heard the door open and whoever was there hadn't even asked to come in, so I knew who it was right away.

"Hello, Charley," I said without even looking up.

"Hello, Linda," replied Charley, walking over and taking a seat across from me. Charley was always welcome in our house; he was almost a part of the family. Actually, he lives in a duplex with us; I guess you could call him our 'next-wall' neighbor. Basically, we were in the same house, I guess you could say. He has a son about the same age as my sons, Bernard, such a sweet and intelligent boy. Charley's wife passed on quite a few years ago. I never actually asked how it happened, but I didn't want to press into any painful memories. We were not close, she and I, I can barely even remember her name.

"How are you today?" he asked, I saw him reach into his pocket out of the corner of my eye.

"I am just fine, but you know I don't allow smoking in my house," I reminded him.

He smiled, and pulled out instead a deck of cards. "Don't worry, Linda, I know the rules."

I nodded and smiled. "Good. How have you been yourself?" I asked politely, folding one of Willy's favorite white shirts.

"Fine, fine," Charley said, starting a game of solitaire. I could sense in his voice that he was just waking up himself. He's quite the successful businessman, but when he's tired he's tired. Likewise, when he's mad, or happy... he usually keeps any and all emotions or feelings tucked inside, preferring to laugh things off, even when times are tough. He's quite the man, he knows when to talk and when not to talk, and he always says the right things. He says things that make even me think, good or bad I'm still not sure.

"What are you up to today," he asked, flipping over the Queen of Hearts.

"Not much," I replied, finishing up folding and nudging the basket over to the side. "I have some chores to do, the usual. I'm baking a pie later on, and I think Willy should be home in about two days."

"Hm."

Sometimes it annoys me when he does that, just 'hums' in reply to something. He doesn't seem upset to hear of Willy coming back, but he also doesn't seem that enthusiastic. In fact, he's like this about nearly everything.

"How are the boys today?" he asked, completing his set of Spades.

"Oh, they're just fine." I replied, a smile coming across my face. "You should have seen them this morning... can you smell it? The shaving lotion in the air? It may seem like such a small thing, but... something so small means a lot to me..."

"Oh?" he said, raising an eyebrow at me.

I laughed lightly and shook my head. "I'm sure you wouldn't understand, Charley."

We talked for about an hour or so, I even joined him in a few games of blackjack. We didn't bet anything, I knew I would more than likely lose. I wasn't much of a card player, I knew that Willy liked to have a round of gambling every once in a while. He has a little jar on top of the fridge with some betting coins of all values.

"So, Linda," he said, breaking a long silence. "How has Willy been lately?" I thought he'd never ask.

"Well, he's... healthy," I said, even though that was a lie to me. I knew what he did... I was terrified to find out of his odd habits of trying to commit suicide... I didn't want to believe it. Actually, I denied it at first. Willy can't, he would never... not MY Willy. But then I began to find evidence for myself. I even found the beginning of a suicide note he was writing to me. As soon as I saw that note, I was absolutely sure of his intentions. I put it back where I found it as soon as I saw it. It was only the beginning, and I had a feeling he was ready to write something very important... but, ever since that day, I've been too afraid to see it again. I actually wanted so much to tell Charley about it, I trust him with nearly everything. He actually doesn't visit all that often, but it's good to see a friendly face once in a while. Better than doing chores constantly, for sure.

"That's good to hear," he said in a low voice. I almost felt as though he knew I was uncertain about what I just said. He has a way of telling. He beat me at another game and picked up the cards to shuffle them. "Linda, don't you think you should do something?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, my voice wavering slightly. I didn't want to talk about _that_ again.

"You know what I'm talking about," he replied, dealing me some cards to start a game of poker. "I don't even live here, but I see the gradual changes in Willy every day. You live with him, sleep in the same room, you of all people should have noticed by now."

"Charley, we talked about this already. There is nothing wrong with Willy, what do you want me to do?" I asked while tossing two cards.

"I want you to do what you know is right," he said, plain and simple. "Willy, he's not right in the head, we both know that. He talks to himself, I hear him, and he gets louder every day. It's like the walls are made of paper, I swear it's like he were right beside me."

"You can't blame him," I said quietly, laying down my hand and finally winning a game. "He's under so much stress, Charley, he won't even listen to me half the time. If only he could get off the road, get a desk job, then I think everything would be just fine..."

Charley dealt some more cards. "It's always one thing or another, Linda. One minute he'll be talking about how he hates change, then he wants to change all the rules when he doesn't follow them half the time--"

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" I nearly yelled, slamming my hands down on the table. "Willy is a good man, Charley, one of the best! He may not have a trophy case, he may not have any blue ribbons, but I'll be damned if he doesn't work as hard as any other person I know, maybe harder!"

"It isn't a matter of how hard he works, Linda. A man can work his fingers to the bone and still have nothing. He works, but he doesn't try."

"Now you're not making any sense!" I yelled, staring at him like he just commit a horrible crime. And yet, there he was, as calm as ever, sorting and re-sorting his cards.

"Maybe there's no pleasing him. What if he gets a desk job? Then he'll complain about how he should get a raise, or maybe he'll even complain about how his pencil isn't replaced each day."

"Stop it, Charley... please, just... stop..." I murmured, my eyes beginning to sting from oncoming tears.

"You're getting yourself worked up over nothing, Linda," he said, finally looking up to look me in the eyes. I didn't even notice that I was standing. What was I planning on doing, attacking him? I hesitated, but slowly sat down in my chair again, looking at the cards that I had left abandoned on the table right in front of me. What did he mean 'nothing'? Was he calling Willy a 'nothing'? Or maybe... maybe I'm really am just being silly...

"Willy isn't the only person who has to face the truth. You do as well," Charley stated, discarding two cards. Now I was the one who felt lost. Charley's usually so quiet, but a wise man he is. Although, I admit, sometimes his intellect flees from me and I don't understand what he's getting at.

"Well, maybe it's time I left," he said, getting up from his seat and scooping up the rest of his cards, putting them into his pocket. "Linda, are you alright?" he asked.

I hastily wiped a single tear from my cheek. "I'm just fine, something just flew into my eye."

He seemed still for a moment, then he walked to my side and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry if I upset you, Linda. But we all have to grow up someday, Willy included."

"I know," I said, pulling a tissue from my pocket and blowing my nose into it. "It's just... hard, Charley."

"I know it is. Take it easy now, you're not in a race," he said, patting my shoulder, then turning and walking toward the door. He turned for a moment, he seemed to be about to say something. But then he decided against it, opening the door, and leaving.

I sat there for a few minutes, lightly dabbing at my eyes and holding the tears inside. It really felt to me like Charley was being unfair, he knew as well as I did how hard of a worker Willy was. But, deep down inside, I knew he was right. I just had a very hard time admitting it. Was it so hard to admit that Willy needed help, or was it hard to admit that... Charley was right and I was wrong?

I took a few moments to collect myself, then I picked up the clothes basket and went up to the bedrooms, putting everything in its proper place. I saw that suicide note sticking out from under a pair of Willy's socks. I tried to not look at it, merely covering it up with more socks and underwear. Bury the bad things in white, white is so pure.

I looked at the clock. It was almost eleven in the morning already, how time flies. I went back into the kitchen and got out the ingredients required to make that apple pie for Happy. I knew the food wouldn't hold on for much longer, I had to get the fridge repaired very soon. By the time I cut the apples, mixed the ingredients, and got the pie into the oven, it was already around lunchtime. I was a little slow on making the pie because my mind was elsewhere. Namely, my mind was in Willy's drawer, right beside that note... had he written anything else since I first saw it?

I closed the oven door and leant against the counter, thinking. I wasn't sure if I should look at it again or not. Part of me was curious; another part of me was terrified. I guess I had this strange thought in my head that if I pretended it didn't exist, nothing bad would happen. Of course, I knew that wouldn't happen. Maybe Charley was right… I can pretend things are perfectly fine all that I want to, but that doesn't mean something isn't wrong.

I took in a deep breath, then I went over and started to walk up the stairs. Did I really want to do this? I stopped about midway. I knew perfectly well everything what was happening. A small voice inside said, if he really is going to kill himself, you'll read that note sooner or later. Do you want to be upset now and try to prevent it from happening, or do you want to put it off and make the suffering go on for longer than it should? You deserve to know what's going on.

I stood there, turning the thoughts over in my mind, but I found myself walking back down the stairs again. What Willy does is his business, I told myself. I wanted so much to be there, to hold him, protect him. If I had the choice, I would make it so that he were always home and he would be happy. But, unfortunately, I can't do that.

I spent a good few hours doing the other chores. I dusted here and there, let the pie sit on the window sill to cool, took the clothes from the boys' floor and washed them, leaving them out on the clothes line to dry. I also swept the floor and set out a couple more mousetraps, I don't know where these mice keep coming from.

After these were done, I went up to my room and laid down for a nap. It wasn't even too much work that I did, but I get worn down so much more easily than I used to. Maybe I'm under too much stress. I wish I could afford to have a maid come in and take care of things for me, but we can barely afford to keep our house in the first place.

I awoke later on to the sound of the doors opening, and laughter as Happy said something I couldn't quite make out and the sounds of them stomping the dirt from their feet. I looked at the clock and groaned; it was five o'clock. I should have started dinner already; we normally eat around this time. I drug myself out of bed and stretched out my arms, going to the door, and walking downstairs to greet my sons.

"Hey, mom!" called Happy from beside the windowsill, practically drooling over the apple pie that sat there, tempting him.

I couldn't help but giggle. I knew how much he loved his pies. "You go ahead and have a slice, Happy, I'll get dinner stared."

"Do you need any help, mom?" asked Biff, finally speaking up from the table. I barely even noticed him at first.

"Well… you could help me by peeling a few potatoes, but not too many," I said. "Oh, could you also bring the bag of yellow beans? They should be right beside the potatoes and turnips," I said, walking over to the counter and pulling some pots out from the cupboard.

We had a very nice dinner, I made some pork chops along with our potatoes and yellow beans. Happy told me the grand time he and Biff had. Apparently, they were hanging out with a couple girls, a Lashonda Smith from Boston and Michelle Khoury from some place out in Texas. It was nice that they were getting to know new people, but I just hoped they wouldn't try to get into something too serious. They are not ready for relationships, in my eyes. Maybe I'll always just see them as my little boys, being a grandmother already is a scary thought for me.

After we finished having our dinner, and more pie, I cleaned up and put everything away. Now it was seven o'clock, we talked so much. Well, actually, I was just listening. But I didn't mind at all, I love to listen. Sometimes I wish I were still a teen, out on the town and having fun, but I got older and more mature. I got responsibilities. I may have lost one life, but I started a whole new one. And I don't think I would trade those experiences for anything.

I read a book for a while afterwards, and decided to go to bed earlier than usual. So many strange, confusing things happen in life, both good and bad things. When a good thing happens, appreciate and cherish every moment of it. When a bad thing happens, it's alright to hurt a little, but not too much. You deal with the problem and move on in life to jump the next hurdle. I don't quite know what I could do about Willy. But for as long as we live, I will do all that I can to keep him safe and happy.


End file.
